The Fall of Numenor
by Cryptonomos
Summary: Ar-Pharazon was the last and greatest king of Numenor. After defeating Sauron and conquering all the known realms of Middle Earth, he turns his attention to mankind's most implacable enemy: death itself. I expect it to run to about novella length. I'm toying with the idea of releasing it as an ebook on my site when I'm done if anyone is interested. See my profile for the url.
1. The Lost Scepter

Miriel sat in her dressing room in a chair of carved narwhal ivory while an attendant fixed up her hair. She wore a cerulean blue gown of rare silks woven by skilled elves of the north. It was detailed in silver thread and bore constellations of gems. Time was, she thought as she sipped her tea, that a lady could prepare for the day in peace. "Please continue," she told her advisor to the council. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, m'lady. Thank you." Counselor Usaphda glanced at the tea tray longingly as if he were lying. "As I was saying-"

He was interrupted by knocking at the door. It opened and the chamberlain poked his head in. "Pardon, m'lady, but the lord and keeper of the tombs wishes to see you. He's most insistent."

"I'm sorry, but this can wait no longer." An old man in black robes and a grey hood pushed past the chamberlain into the room and bowed. "A thousand apologies, my queen. But I've been prevented from speaking with you for days now and the inhumation must happen soon."

"Why do you call me queen, Lord Agannalo?" Miriel asked.

The old man paused, opened-mouthed. "But Tar-Palantir is no more and you are his only child."

Miriel cast a sharp glance at Usaphda. "The council has yet to grant me the scepter and it seems that some would see that I never hold it."

"We've already spoken of this," Usaphda said a little defensively. "The scepter has merely been mislaid. I'm certain it will reappear as soon as events are sorted out and things become organized. Your father's death has caused much confusion."

"But in whose hand will it appear?" Miriel asked.

"My lady?" Lord Agannalo looked at her with a curious expression. "Why are you not dressed in mourning?"

"I completed my mourning during his illness."

"But tradition! It's unseemly." Agannalo's aged sense of propriety seemed to overpower his sense of decorum.

"'Unseemly' is the faithful mourning as if they have no hope."

"Have you no love for your father? You haven't even given your permission to have his body embalmed."

"Why preserve the flesh once the spirit is gone?"

"But to simply let him rot in the ground...!" Usaphda joined in surprised.

"We will all of us rot in the end, regardless of all efforts to preserve ourselves. Eru clothed my father when He brought him forth and He can clothe him again if He should return him."

Agannalo shook his head. Her mention of Eru seemed to make him and Usaphda uncomfortable.

"Drape him in his cloth of gold, put on his mask of gold and place him on his golden bier festooned with scented flowers." Miriel looked at Agannalo over the rim of her teacup. "Is there any other question that needs answered?"

Agannalo seemed to gather himself. "If he will not be embalmed, then the inhumation must be soon. The choirmaster is already complaining that he needs more time to prepare for the ceremony."

Miriel set down her teacup. "Then tell him to start now."

"He needs to know which of the thirty-seven funerary rituals you would like performed."

"You know my father loved the ancient ways. Tell the choirmaster to use the first and oldest."

"But..." Agannalo cast a pleading look at Usaphda. "That ritual is nothing but invocations of... invocations of...Eru. And in elvish no less."

"Is there any law against such?"

"Not now," Usaphda said. "But in your grandfather's day that language was banned. That rite may well anger the king's men. They are your greatest obstacle at the moment. We need their support."

"Then we are fortunate," Miriel leaned back in her chair and smiled, "that despite my father's attempts to revive that tongue, few people know it. No one who cares will know what the choir is chanting."

Usaphda pinched the bridge of his nose as if his head hurt. "Lord Agannalo, please tell the choirmaster to use the high speech of the elves. It should be the least recognized."

With a somewhat scandalized look, Agannalo nodded and bowed his way out of the room.

Usaphda stood staring at the door for several long moments in silence.

"Perhaps I should just craft my own scepter," Miriel said thoughtfully.

"It's not the scepter you need, it's the support of your council."

"I would have thought the support of the law would be sufficient."

"Laws can be changed. If it weren't for Tar-Aldarion changing the laws to allow his daughter to succeed him, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Some on the council are saying that since your father tried to revive the old customs, that we should revive this one as well."

"How many of my counselors are loyal to me?"

"The lords of Andunie and Laurinque are most loyal to you. Ondosto and Nindamos are unknown, but their sympathies are suspect. Armenelos has always been governed by the king's men and, as far as we know, Azulzain of Orrostar has been as well. Without an heir, there is no one to sit in the seventh seat."

"So two are for me, two against me and two unknown. It would seem the forces for and against are fairly balanced."

"Alas, but they are not. Since the relocation of the faithful from the western lands to Romenna, the influence of Andunie and Laurinque have lessened and Azulzain and Armenelos have grown. At best, we can only hope that Ondosto and Nindamos will remain neutral, but even so, your opponents enjoy greater support."

For a moment, Miriel stared into the dark mirror of her tea.

It had been the tradition of the kings of old, that once their sons had come into their full power, the king would voluntarily hand over the scepter to them. If her father and revived that custom rather than clinging to the scepter until the bitter end as his fathers had done, she would have been firmly planted on the throne by now. That he did not, left a question-both in her mind as well as in the royal council's-as to whether he thought her fit for the throne of Numenor.

"What will they do to me if they reject me?" she finally asked in a soft voice.

Usaphda turned to her with a smile touched by sadness. "They may well set you aside. And this is not without precedent. Even when the council permitted Tar-Aldarion's daughter to rule, they required her to marry. If you would consider taking a husband, one not objectionable to the king's men..."

"If there were any, I might have done so," Miriel grumbled.

A sudden roar broke the gathering silence. It was the voice of a great crowd of people.

"What is that?" Usaphda asked.

Miriel rose and led the way from the dressing room into an antechamber, then down a corridor to a balcony overlooking the main road from the harbor. Below, great crowds of cheering people filled the streets.

"It seems the lords of the sea have returned," Usaphda said and Miriel saw the harbor was filled with ships bearing red and gold sails. Beyond them more ships waited, heavy with timber for building even more ships. A procession of men unloaded treasures from the boats, chests of gold and silver and precious gems; crates of precious foods and cages of rare and exotic animals. They marched into the city bearing aloft the standards of captured kings, dragging in chains the fallen lords as slaves.

"Is that my cousin Pharazon?" Miriel watched a man in the lead toss handfuls of gold coins into the crowd as if stoking the fire of their uproar.

"They are wearing his colors," Usaphda said. Then, a moment later, "He might make a good candidate."

"For what?"

"For a husband."

"My cousin? Are you jesting? Even if it were legal for first cousins to marry, his father was the leader of the king's men."

"Which will more than placate them," Usaphda said, "despite the fact that Pharazon has never cared for politics. He only cares for the sea and adventure and exploration. Of all the sons of Numenor, he is most like Tar-Aldarion, which in your case would be a good thing. You could continue to rule while he spent his life away at sea."

The idea stunned Miriel. It was an elegant solution to her problem. She had to admit, of all her close relatives, Pharazon-whom she had called Kulu as a child-had always been the most interesting and pleasant to be around. Though a little rough, he was always full of laughter and enthusiasm, telling thrilling stories of his adventures on the seas. But he was her cousin-a first cousin-and so their marriage was proscribed by law. "No," she said a little wistfully. "I think such a marriage would only lead to misfortune."


	2. Return of the Sea Lords

The streets of Armenelos were crowded with visitors who had come to the capital for the king's funeral. In a show of loyalty, they had exchanged the traditional gold and black of Numenor for the black and gold clothes of mourning. Amandil wished the mourning was more than show as he pushed past a laughing group of men and women gathered around a street vendor. One of the customers stepped back and bumped into to him, turning an angry face to him until he saw Amandil's royal council robes, then turned away with a mumbled apology.

"Welcome back, councilor." The doorman at the Sea Star tavern bowed and held the door for Amandil. The tavern had become the unofficial headquarters of the Venturers' Guild in the capital city of Armenelos. Reserved for only those who sailed beyond the coastal fishing waters, it was normally much less crowded than the other taverns and often served as the only home some captains had when they were in port. With Tar-Palantir's death, however, the sea lords had all returned and the interior was just as crowded and festive as the streets outside.

Amandil put a small silver coin on the bar. "I think I need the good stuff today."

The tavern keeper smiled, took out a tankard and began to fill it. "Then you're in luck, captain. This crowd has already drunk up the cheap stuff."

Amandil sipped his drink and dodged through the crowd on the way to an alcove in the back where the captains and their guests drank. He had been a respected sea captain before working his way up to admiral then getting drafted into the royal council. Tar-Palantir had little interest in the navy or any matters military. He had spent half his days-particularly at the end-at the top of Tar-Minastir's tower on Oromet watching for the return of the elves. He had left many matters of state to others and Amandil had ended up running all of Numenor's military. No one knew who was in charge of anything now.

His son Elendil, now an admiral, and his two grandsons waved him over to a table. "Welcome father! How go things on the council?" Elendil had to shout to be heard.

Amandil leaned over the table. There was little chance of being overheard. "Not well."

His children's smiles faded as they scanned his face. He regretted stealing their joy.

"The council refuses to recognize Miriel as they are required to by law?" Elendil scowled.

"They are not quite so open in their rebellion, but yes. The only reason she has not already been set aside is that they cannot agree on one to replace her."

"The kings' men?"

"Who else?"

"But surely the people will not stand to have the line of Elros overthrown!" Isildur blurted out.

"Many are in agreement with the king's men that Numenor has grown weak and that a strong leader is required to restore her to her former glory," Amandil said. "They need only the thinnest cover of legitimacy and few will question it."

Elendil shook his head. "I would hate to see a return to the old ways." He looked to his two sons. "You were both born during the rule of Ar-Palantir. Whatever you have heard of the oppression before, let me assure you the truth of it was worse."

"But come!" Amandil forced a smile on his face and raised his tankard. "Let us drink to Tar-Palantir the faithful and remember better times."

They raised their tankards and in the same moment the crowd throughout the tavern erupted into a cheer. The front door had been thrown open and the blinding light of the sun fell on a man stepping inside.

The crowd started chanting "Pharazon". The admiral greeted his well-wishers, walked up to the bar and dropped a handful of gold coins. The tavern-keeper shouted to his sons in the back room and suddenly large barrels of ale were being brought forth to even greater cheers from the crowd. Tankards were passed, the ale started flowing and sailors all broke out into song.

"It seems your long-lost brother has returned." Amandil chuckled.

Elendil smiled. "And prospered in his absence."

Pharazon and Elendil were less than a year apart in birth and had grown up together. Though his father was an undeclared enemy of king Palantir, yet Pharazon and Elendil were such fast friends that Pharazon had practically become a member of their family. In time, Pharazon made his way through the crowd to the back of the tavern and seeing Elendil there, rushed to greet him with open arms. "Brother!"

"Kulu!" Elendil cried, calling Pharazon by his childhood name as they embraced. "It has been too long."

"Indeed it has. You've gotten old!" Pharazon laughed. "By Ulmo's damp beard! Who are these towering giants beside you? Tell me these are not your sons grown so big!"

Elendil laughed. "This are my sons Isildur and Anarion."

Pharazon clasped hands with each. While Pharazon was tall, Elendil was nearly eight feet tall, and his sons almost matched him. "I hear you both have become captains of some renown. If you tire of the cold north and wish to test your mettle against something other than womenly elves, you both would be welcome in my fleets."

"Our father barely lets us beyond sight of the shore," Anarion said. "I doubt he'd let the horizon get between our sails."

With a laugh, Pharazon raised his tankard towards Amandil. "To our fathers...and their eternal struggle with their sons seeking to become their own men!"

When they had all drunk, Amandil put down his tankard. "So how fares the lord of Umbar?"

Pharazon chuckled. The title 'lord of Umbar' had never been bestowed on anyone, but it was well known that Pharazon had nearly turned that corner of the Haradwaith into his own kingdom, and one that might someday challenge Numenor in might. "Well enough, though..." Pharazon paused and looked around. His absence had yet to be noticed by the others. He sat at the table and gestured the others closer. "The fate of Umbar is tied to the fate of Numenor and the king's scepter. Who holds it now?"

Elendil's, Isildur's and Anarion's faces darkened. Amandil tried to keep his expression neutral as he answered. "Officially the scepter has been temporarily mislaid."

"Miriel has not been invested with it?" Pharazon looked more curious than surprised.

"No," Amandil said. "I suspect some on the council would prefer a more... forceful leader."

"And their concerns may not be groundless." Pharazon leaned in closer as if he didn't wish the singing and chanting crowd to overhear. "We've had to fight to win back and keep the fortresses in the south. We are being hard pressed by both men and orcs. There is a rumor that Sauron has turned his eyes westward."

"To the coast?" Elendil asked.

"Aye."

"But he's always avoided the coastlines before, preferring to take his conquests from easier prey in the interior," Amandil said.

Pharazon nodded. "The old king looked more to the west than the east. The captains fear that Sauron now thinks we are weak. We need to make a show of strength to keep Sauron at bay or else we'll be fighting a constant defensive war." Pharazon's blue eyes gazed steadily into Amandil's. There was no doubt as to his sincerity and the seriousness of the situation. Amandil shook his head. This only made the situation more complicated.

"Where is Pharazon!" a loud voice cried near the entrance of the tavern.

Pharazon looked up. "Blast it! It's my uncles' men. Come, no doubt, to embroil me in their machinations. I don't suppose I can duck out the back and do the debtor's dash."

Amandil laughed. "I don't think you could find a single place to hide in Numenor right now."

Pharazon rose with a sigh. "I suppose I must face the justice of the mast, then." He drained his tankard.

"Whatever you do, don't make my mistake," Amandil warned him with a sardonic smile. "Don't let them involve you in politics. It's a trap."

Pharazon set the tankard down. "Fear not. I've made a vow to myself to never let anything get between me and the sea."

"That must be why you've remained unmarried," Elendil laughed.

Pharazon smiled and tapped the side of his nose. He then turned and greeted his uncle's men as if he had been expecting them.

Amandil watched them walk away. He noticed that every one of them were deep in the councils of the king's men.

* * *

**Author's Note: **There are a number of contradictory elements that have to be harmonized for this effort. For one, Amandil is said to have been close friends with Pharazon in Amandil's youth. However Amandil was well over 100 years old when Pharazon was born. His son, Elendil, however was a year younger than Pharazon and it's reasonable to think that the king's nephew and the son of the king's adviser may have spent a fair amount of time together growing up.

Also, considering that many children in ancient societies were raised by their mothers-their fathers being largely uninvolved until their sons were old enough to start learning a trade, it's not surprising if Pharazon's political opinions reflected his mother's attitudes rather than his father's (the leader of the King's men) just as Tar-Palantir did. If that is the case, Pharazon could have looked up to Amandil as almost a father figure-which is the direction I went with this story.


	3. Misalliance

Tar-Palantir, draped in gold and bedecked in flowers, was carried on a golden litter on the shoulders of four strong men of his personal guard. All the lords and ladies of Armenelos, dressed in clothes of mourning, with dark veils over their heads, followed in sombre procession on the road to Menaltarma. Many times Tar-Palantir had taken this road in life, turning north to ascend to the top of Menaltarma to offer the three prayers to Eru Iluvatar, but this time his bearers brought him southward, over the south-eastern tarmasundar into the valley of Noirinan where the tombs of his fathers had been cut into the base of the holy mountain itself.

As they proceeded, the choir chanted ancient praises to Eru and Manwe and the Valar, recounting how they had created this island and brought the first men here as a rest and a reward for aiding in the war against Melkor. The songs were in the oldest dialect, unintelligible to most, still the invocations to Eru and Manwe and the Valar were hard to miss. Miriel wondered if any of her countrymen felt any shame at their mention, or if they were so long into their rebellion that they only knew fear and anger and disgust at the names their fathers had once worshipped.

Miriel stumbled as they climbed the steep road over the tarmasundar. Pharazon, walking by her side, caught her arm and supported her. She acknowledged him with a nod. "Cousin."

"Cousin." He nodded back.

The procession halted before the tomb of the kings. Robed and veiled priests bore Tar-Palantir's body inside. The choirmaster began a chant, explaining how the valar and the eldar were bound to this dying world, piling on the years and sorrows until they had joined Arda in its ultimate fate. This world, however, was not the home of men. Men alone were gifted with death, escaping the fate of the undying to follow the will and reward of Eru into other unknown places.

His words brought tears to Miriel's eyes and she wept silently. They were almost the exact same words with which her father had comforted her when her mother had died. Those around her, bored and ignorant of the words' meanings, looked at her with curious and pitiable expressions. They would, no doubt, have turned on the choirmaster in rage if they knew what he was saying.

Three days later, Miriel sat on terrace of the king's house drinking tea and sighing. She still wore the black of mourning, belying her brave words on that day when her advisor, Usaphda and the master of the tombs had found her in her blue dress. She hadn't the heart to wear anything brighter.

Her father had told her, that in olden days, it was the custom for families and friends to share food and celebrate the lives of those lost. "It is only in recent times, where death hangs like a dark shadow over us all, that we torture ourselves with these long days of silence and mourning," he had said. "The men of Numenor fear death too much and so give it too great a power over them."

Miriel poured herself another cup of tea. She did not agree with her people's rebellion against the Valar, but she had grown to sympathize with their reasons.

A door opened out onto the terrace. Miriel looked up.

Pharazaon stepped out onto the flagstones bearing a garland of flowers. They were the silver and gold stars of Elanor, a flower that grew in Lorien and signified the hope and promise of the future. Mixed in with them were the unfading purple of Amaranth, the flower of undying promise.

Miriel's heart leapt into her throat and froze there. Her hand trembled and she nearly dropped the teapot. It all changes, she thought. My world ends today and nothing will ever be the same again.

Pharazon stepped forward, an uncertain and shy smile trembling in the corners of his mouth. For a moment she saw in him the excited adventurous Kulu she had known in her youth, who had been swallowed up by the hard, strong and proud captain of the sea who had returned.

Miriel forced her hand to carefully set down the teapot. Then, as if her arm were some mechanical device, she carefully lifted her cup. "I assume this means the council has finished its deliberations?"

"It does."

"And does it mean the scepter of the kings will soon be found?"

"We may hear of it sometime in the next nine days."

"We?"

Pharazon lifted the garland.

"About the time the period of mourning ends?"

Pharazon gave her a small awkward smile. "Nothing can happen until then."

Miriel closed her eyes and a shiver ran through her.

Pharazon cleared his throat. "I realize that none of this is as we would have wished..."

"Nor is it legal..."

"As to that, tomorrow the council will present a new law for your signature allowing the ruler of Numenor to marry anyone not in his or her immediate family if a more suitable spouse cannot be found."

"Suitable to whom? Me our the council?"

Pharazon looked a little offended. "Does the lady have another candidate?" He asked stiffly.

Miriel sighed. "No."

"Then may I ask if you will accept my token? I grow weary holding it."

Miriel rose and straightened her spine as if facing a trial.

Pharazon placed the garland around her neck.

This isn't right, Miriel thought. No couple should begin their life like this. She turned her cheek to him with an ironic smile. "Will you give your wife a kiss?"

Pharazon bent and gave her a chaste kiss.

* * *

**Author Notes: **According to which notes you read, Ar-Pharazon was either a great and noble king who was almost a throw-back to the early kings of Numenor who unfortunately became corrupted by Sauron, or he was a grasping evil ambitious man who forced his cousin to marry him against her will, changed her name (why this is listed as one of his crimes I don't know) and stole the scepter of the kings.

(It's worth pointing out that right up to the publication of the Silmarilian, Miriel was not forced to wed Pharazon but actually broke off an engagement with an erstwhile Elentir, Amandil's older brother-though Amandil was called Valandil)

I generally dislike simple explanations. Humans are complicated creatures who do things for multiple reasons. The simple explanation also ignores the tremendous power social expectations have. Few royalty have the ability to choose their spouses for themselves. When Pharazon and Miriel married, they were probably the last two people to have a say in the matter.

Regarding names...it was the custom that all Numenorean kings (and queens) change their name when they took up the scepter of kings. Miriel's name change to Ar-Zimraphel implies that, at least for a time, she ruled under he own name. This also means Pharazon is not his real name, but nowhere could I find any record of his true name. I did find one passing reference (which I neglected to save) to the word Kulu which would seem to also mean "golden" but it sounded more like a diminutive form of a real name. I suppose that Pharazon itself may have been a nick-name he used before he became king, so I just decided to stay with that.


	4. Of Love and War

For several days prior to the wedding, Amandil tried to speak to Pharazon to warn him against the council's plan, but Pharazon was too busy to speak with him. Pharazon raced back and forth between Armenelos and Romenna, talking to the masters of the shipyards and the masters of the timber yards. Even on those few occasions when Amandil caught up to him, Pharazon always had an excuse for not talking to him. Amandil finally determined that Pharazon knew what Amandil had to say, but didn't want to hear it. His mind was made up.

Less than a month after Tar-Palantir's funeral, Miriel was given the scepter and took the name Ar-Zimraphel and was wed to Pharazon. Despite the scandal of marrying her cousin, or perhaps even because of it, Ar-Zimraphel rose in the eyes of her people who had previously seen her as distant, uncaring and even a little self-righteous. Now, having married the hero of the people, she became a queen of the people and ruled Numenor well for several months, until one day when Ar-Pharazon called the councilors to court.

"Now that the lord of Andustar has joined us, perhaps we can continue," Pharazon said from the king's chair at the octagonal council table, his words echoing in the large stone council room.

Amandil hurried breathlessly into the chamber. "My apologies, Pharazon-"

"That's _Ar_-Pharazon," Nalnaru, lord of Armenelos corrected from his seat on Ar-Pharazon's left.

"Apologies, my lord," Armandil said. "I only just received the summons. It seems the messenger was in no particular haste to call me forth."

Ar-Pharazon smiled. "No apologies are needed. The traffic to Romenna has grown great, and I fear I am most at fault for that."

The other counselors joined in with their comments about the traffic and the increased business of the shipyards as Amandil sat in his customary seat at the king's right hand. He leaned over to Nadroth, the lord of Laurinque and his greatest ally on the counsel. "What have I missed?"

"I only got the summons myself," Nadroth whispered. "But I noticed all the king's men had been here for some time before us." Nadroth gave Amandil a knowing look.

"If we may begin, gentlemen, we have some important matters to discuss," Ar-Pharazon placed the scepter of the kings on the table.

Amandil wondered why Ar-Pharazon held the scepter and not his wife. "And does it have to do with the scepter?"

"Indirectly, it does." Ar-Pharazon paused to look each of his councilors in the eye. "A matter has arisen that the queen has asked me to handle and so has passed the scepter to me for the moment."

Amandil scanned the faces of those he thought to be of the king's men, fearing some sort of collusion. They looked surprised, but pleased at Ar-Pharazon's announcement.

"Gentlemen, we are at war." Ar-Pharazon's words shocked the council. "Sauron has begun attacking our colonies in middle earth. He now calls himself _Lord of the Earth_ and _King of Men_. He's threatened to not only drive us out of middle earth, but to plunder this island and enslave our women and children."

Even the king's men were shocked. Nalnaru blurted out, "My lord! When did this happen?"

"The messenger arrived seven days ago."

"The colonies?" Amandil asked. "How fair they?"

"I confess I already had some wind of this, and so over the last year, I've taken measures to strengthen the colonies. I believe they will last while we prepare for war, but prepare for war we must, and soon!"

Nadroth shook his head unbelievingly. "Sauron! But he always feared the coasts."

"Because he feared us," Ar-Pharazon snapped. "But he now thinks us weak and fears us no longer. Unfortunately for him, he has tipped his hand too soon. Our spies overhead his boasting as he tried to rally the tribes of the Haradrim to his side."

Ar-Pharazon turned to Amandil. "You were chief advisor to the last king. I would ask that you remain in that position."

Amandil bowed his head. "Gladly."

"I'm placing you in charge of the shipyards and the building up of the fleet. I would ask for Elendil and his sons' aid as well. I know they have connections in Pelargir. I would have them cut down every tree we can reach in middle earth, mill them and bring the lumber here. I want those shipyards working night and day until we attack."

Amandil was stunned, but before he could say anything Ar-Pharazon turned to Tamar, the lord of Ondosto. "I need you to see to it that we have the steel and arms and armor to equip a million men."

"A million?" several voices cried out at once.

"Where will we get so many men?" Nalnaru asked.

"We will certainly recruit every Numenorean who can fight or sail, but I am sending you, Lord of Armenelos, to Umbar to see to its defenses and to conscript men. Fill my armies and my navies, lord. Send me the sailors for training and train the warriors there. With any luck, we'll have three or four years before Sauron presses us. Do your job well, and we may have yet more time."

Ar-Pharazon swept them with a hard gaze. "I will have many other tasks for you, but this is where we begin."

Amandil's mind reeled. Working night and day, their shipyards could produce thousands of ships. "And how many ships will you require to transport these men?"

Ar-Pharazon gave him a crooked smile which looked more like the snarl of a wolf. "I intend to build so many ships that I can ride my horse from here to middle earth across their decks."


	5. Sauron's Surrender

On the day of the invasion, the eastern sea appeared as if a mighty forest had taken root in its waters. Wood and rope and canvas covered the sea from horizon to horizon, pressing down on the waves so that they struggled to rise and abating the wind as it dragged through their sails. The ships were so thick that the helmsmen had to fight to give their oarsmen enough room to keep the sweeps from entangling.

Ar-Pharazon insisted on captaining his own ship. Amandil followed close by with his own fleet, watching the sails of his son's ships and his grandsons' ships stretch away northwards. The winds were favorable, carrying them swiftly to middle earth as if, for a moment, the Valar had forgotten their disapproval and blessed their efforts. Amandil took a deep breath of salt air and savored it. He had been too long away from the sea. With nothing but the wind and the waves and the deck rising and falling beneath his feet, it was easy to cast aside the complexities and compromises of court life and leave them in his wake. He knew his sons appreciated it. He hoped Pharazon would rediscover it.

As they drew near Umbar, the line of ships from the combined fleets spread up and down the coast for miles. It took days to land all the warriors in port, exhausting every harbor pilot the portmaster had. Amandil watched the fear and rumor of their arrival spread inland as he waited his turn to disembark. Many of the locals fled, burning their own crops and villages behind them, hoping the invaders would not stay if they found only a dead ash-covered land. Others, thinking it futile to even flee, came and surrendered, hoping to ingratiate themselves to the land's new rulers.

Amandil expected Ar-Pharazon to take over the governor's palace in Umbar since he once lived there. Instead he set up his command tent on a hill just outside the city's eastern gate. The city was too small to hold all his men and he was eager to get them on the march. Each day's delay to unload and organize the men and equipment and food only increased Ar-Pharazon's irritation.

Ar-Pharazon stood over a table where he discussed his strategies with his captains and jabbed at a map of Mordor's eastern boundary. "We'll march to this pass." He squinted at the lettering. "Cirith Ungul. I don't fancy going on to the northern pass and attempting to navigate that swamp."

Amandil leaned over the map to offer comment, when one of the king's attendants approached. "My lord?"

"What is it?" Ar-Pharazon said irritably, not bothering to look up.

"Another group of locals has arrived."

"Send them to the work captains. There's still plenty of tasks to be done around here. I can't oversee them all."

"They're not here to serve," the man said. "They're here to fight...for us."

Ar-Pharazon looked up. Standing outside his tent, surrounded by a group of armed warriors with nervous expressions was a company of swarthy broad-shouldered men in the dress of the Haradrim. "You've disarmed them?"

"Of course," His attendant replied.

Ar-Pharazon gave an approving nod. "Strip their armor-we don't wear that kind-and send them to Nalnaru. He's supposed to be in charge of recruiting."

The attendant looked uncertain. "Very well, sir." He turned to relay the order to the warriors.

"And tell Nalnaru I require his presence," Ar-Pharazon called out after him.

"Sir, do you trust these Haradrim warriors?" Amandil asked.

"Not yet. But once they've been through our training, assuming they're able to complete it, they will be our men."

"But if they will not help us in this fight against Sauron, what need have we of them?" Amandil asked.

"Middle Earth is a big place. It will take many hands to hold it."

"Hold It?" Amandil gestured at the map. "You intend to occupy all this?"

"Only a fool pays so much to purchase something then gives it back for free, and lately, our island seems to have grown small. Besides," Ar-Pharazon looked up from his map with a sharp glint in his eye, "Sauron flatters himself by claiming to be the Lord of the Earth. I intend to teach him the true meaning of those words."

Amandil was speechless. In the five and a half years he had held the king's scepter, Ar-Pharazon's pride had clearly grown. They discussed things like marching order, attack plans and contingencies for several minutes before Nalnaru showed up.

Nalnaru stepped into the tent. "You wished to see me?"

"I wish to leave right away," Ar-Pharazon said. "When will my army be ready?"

"I was just seeing to the final preparations." Nalnaru's head dipped in an apologetic bow. "We should be able to march in only a few hours."

"Then where is your armor?" Ar-Pharazon looked pointedly at Nalnaru's richly embroidered tunic. Then looked at Amandil's lamellar cuirass. "You're marching with me, are you not?"

"Of course." Amandil answered a little offended that Ar-Pharazon might suggest he wouldn't.

"And you?" Ar-Pharazon asked a suddenly sweaty-looking Nalnaru.

"Yes. Of course." Nalnaru swallowed. "My armor is back at the palace. I'll bring it and the army to you in just a few hours. As soon as they're ready."

The army didn't march until the next day. Once it started moving, however, the tramp of their feet shook the ground as if from an earthquake. While mounted scouts rode ahead, Amandil joined Ar-Pharazon and the other lord commanders riding before the main column. Amandil kept looking back at the tide of men and iron behind. The rumble of their progress made him feel as if an entire mountain were following them in a slow avalanche.

They passed through an empty land. Any farmhouse or village they encountered along the way had been deserted and were often destroyed. Amandil even saw empty foundations as if entire houses had been packed up and moved away. When they camped that evening, Ar-Pharazon set up his enormous gold and red tent on the nearest hill surrounded by the tents of his lord commanders and their captains and their group leaders. Their tents sprang up in every color, like an eruption of flowers in a sudden blush of spring, only to be taken down at first light, leaving a trampled field of mud and trash behind. When the start of the column began to march, it would take over an hour before the rearguard stood up to join them and when they stopped for the night, the lead warriors would already have their tents set up and would be eating their supper when the rest finally caught up.

They came at last to a small nameless village along the Anduin river, a little south west of Cirith Ungol. There Ar-Pharazon set up his tent and determined to wait until the coward Sauron should come and kneel before him. A company of young and brave men, eager to curry favor with the king, were found and sent as messengers to Barad-dur. Ar-Pharazon and his commanders waited several days.

"Think you he will come?" Elendil asked his father.

Amandil snorted. "Oh, it is most certain he will. He fought the combined forces of the elves to a standstill in Tar-Minastir's day and the land has still not fully recovered. He'll most likely come with a host of orcs carrying the heads of our messengers on pikes. Ar-Pharazon's bold challenge cannot be ignored if the _Lord of the Earth_ has any ambition to rule."

The response came several days later. Ar-Pharazon had drug out a great golden throne and set it under a golden awning before his tent. He sat in it, every day, awaiting Sauron's obeisance. Amandil sat next to him on a folding camp chair, which was little more than a triangle of canvas hooked over three short pieces of wood bound together by rope. They were playing a game of seega when the messengers returned.

For some inexplicable reason, the patrol sounded out a fanfare on their horns as if announcing a visiting dignitary. The commanders of Ar-Pharazon's army gathered near his tent, watching the column of men return. Elendil shot Amandil a questioning glance as it became apparent that no angry horde of orcs were following behind. Instead, an old man with white hair and a long white beard and wearing white robes, walked in the lead next to the warrior's commander. The old man was tall but slightly stooped, appearing weak though the iron walking staff he carried must have weighed between ten and twenty pounds.

Ar-Pharazon forgot his vow and rose from his chair, hurrying down to meet Sauron at the base of the hill. Stunned, Amandil and the other lord commanders followed. Ar-Pharazon halted and, though he stood a foot higher in elevation on the hill and Sauron stood hunched over leaning on his staff, still the two looked each other in the eye. Amandil glanced at his son. Only Elendil could hope to match Sauron in height.

Though obviously of great age, Sauron radiated an aura of barely suppressed power. His eyes shone with keen intelligence and he glanced about at the Numenorean forces as if he could, with his understanding alone, completely overpower them. The abrupt certainty that letting Sauron in among them was a mistake seized Amandil and he could barely restrain himself from striking the old man down on the spot.

With a complicated series of awkward movements, Sauron made as if to bow before Ar-Pharazon. "Greetings, Mighty Ar-Pharazon, greatest of the kings of Numenor and one whom I hope I may call brother. Long have I waited for this day. Please forgive me if this old body cannot bow deeper. I assure you that even if I could touch the ground with my forehead it would not plumb the depths of my respect for you."

Elendil rolled his eyes.

"Long have you waited for this day?" Ar-Pharazon scoffed, though his surprise blunted its effect. "The day I should come and scatter your power and overturn the throne of Sauron?"

"If that is what you require." Sauron dipped his head again in a conciliatory gesture."

"And you expect me to believe this when, until today, you were calling yourself the Lord of the Earth?"

"Middle Earth only," Sauron corrected, then dropped his gaze before Ar-Pharazon's glare. "-and only because the lords of Numenor cared not for this suffering realm. The elvish wars had decimated this land and its people. I only sought to unite them and restore their peace and well-being."

Ar-Pharazon looked up, scanning the valley between the white mountains and the mountains of shadow. "Perhaps we have too long neglected this land," he said thoughtfully.

Sauron smiled. "Then perhaps there can be an alliance between Armenelos and Barad-dur for the good of all."

Amandil held his breath. He could feel the pull of Sauron's word's and feared Ar-Pharazon would be persuaded.

Ar-Pharazon glared at Sauron. "An alliance? As between equals? Where are the captains of your forces? Where are their commanders? You pretend to surrender, then hide your forces. I doubt such an alliance would last even a heartbeat after I've stepped from this shore."

Sauron looked surprised. "I assure I am quite sincere. You can come to Barad-dur. Bring your army and watch over me yourself if you do not yet trust me."

"Go to Barad-dur? I think not. Instead you will come to Numenor where I can keep an eye on you and you can see how a real king lives."

"But my work! I have so much left undone!"

"You will have to trust us to govern in your stead."

Shock, dismay and despair rippled across Sauron's face. He finally hung his head in defeat. "It will be as you say. A strong and proud king must always have his way."

Amandil watched Sauron's performance with suspicion. As Sauron hung his head, Amandil thought he saw a small triumphant smile dance on the corner of Sauron's lips. Their eyes happened to meet and Sauron gave him a dark look, evidently reading the skepticism in Amandil's face.

Ar-Pharazon turned to one of his warriors. "Find a horse for Sauron. I wish to leave for the coast immediately."

"If I may ask for one small boon?" Sauron looked up.

Ar-Pharazon frowned. "You may **_ask_**."

"I only ask that you call me not by that evil elvish name. They once called me Annatar, Lord of Gifts, when it suited them, then called me the other when they betrayed me and stole much of my power."

"What then would you have us call you?"

"Call me the name by which I was known when the world was first created. Call me Mairon."


	6. The Last Shadow of Hope

Miriel's servant, Nithil, finished Miriel's hair and stepped back, handing her a mirror of polished silver. "Done! How do you like it?"

Miriel, who had been staring off into space, took the mirror absentmindedly. "Oh?" She looked at her carefully pinned curls of hair. "Very nice."

Nithil waited a moment as Miriel stared blankly into the mirror. "Do you need anything else?"

"No. Er, do you know where Usaphda may be found?"

"I hear the king has been sending him all over Armenelos on errands. These days, he's harder to talk to than the king."

Miriel rose from her chair. "Help me with my dress. I'm going out."

It seemed Usaphda's services had transferred to Ar-Pharazon along with the king's scepter. Miriel hadn't noticed until this moment. She had been happy enough to let Ar-Pharazon prosecute the war. War was ever the playground of men.

Women could be just as effective on the battlefield as men, but women tended to be more reluctant, either too timid or too vicious in their eagerness to end the unpleasantness quickly. Men, on the other hand, savored war like a gourmand savoring a fine dish. They danced their formations across the field just as passionately and just as prettily as any female dancer on the stage, engendering-as far as they were concerned-honor for themselves and respect for their foes. It was an art most women didn't care to learn to appreciate.

But it hadn't just been the impending war that had so dissuaded her from ruling. There had been an impending birth as well. Miriel and Ar-Pharazon had been married for a little more than two years, and though Pharazon had not neglected his husbandly duties, still Miriel failed to become pregnant until nearly six months before the war.

His name was to be Uedjan. It meant hope. It would have been recorded as Estel in the annals of the kings had he lived long enough to see the scepter. But she had miscarried less than a month after Ar-Pharazon had left to invade Middle-Earth. Uedjan's body was now buried in a tiny gold casket in the tomb of women. She intended it to be transferred with her to the tomb of kings when her time came. She still wore a small scroll with both of his names on it next to heart.

Ar-Pharazon had been home for nearly a year now. Though she had enticed her husband to her bed nearly every night, still in all that time she had not yet become pregnant. A dark and growing fear began to creep upon her that, like the path to the undying lands in the west, her womb was also now closed.

Miriel found Ar-Pharazon in his private study with the prisoner Sauron, leaning over a table covered in parchments bearing drawings of ships and parts of ships. Sauron reacted first to her presence, looking up immediately as she entered. Ar-Pharazon followed his gaze, his frown turning to a smile when he saw her in the doorway.

"What brings you here, my dear?"

"Forgive me if I'm intruding, but I had a question. I hoped to speak to you and Usaphda seems to be hard to find of late."

"I have been keeping him well occupied," Ar-Pharazon said, "but you never need another's permission to see me. What would you ask me?"

Miriel started to speak, then paused. Sauron's piercing eyes dissected her with his lidless stare. It was hard enough to try and make her husband understand what was little more than fear and guilt and the most desperately thin shadow of hope. She unconsciously pressed her hand to her abdomen.

How could she explain that she feared the Valar had cursed her womb? How could she make Ar-Pharazon understand that if they restored the rites of old that maybe-just maybe-the Valar might overlook their sin and allow the sons of Elros to continue for at least one more generation. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sauron's gaze blasted the words away like candle smoke in a stiff breeze. His very presence seemed to poison the room.

"I'd rather speak to you alone," she choked out.

Ar-Pharazon followed her gaze to Sauron. "Is this about Mairon? He's harmless."

Sauron shot Ar-Pharazon a look.

"What is the enemy of Numenor doing here?" she asked.

"Enemy? No enemy of Numenor." Sauron, or Mairon as he was now calling himself, gave her a crooked smile of calculated self-consciousness. "That...unpleasantness last year was a misunderstanding. We both seek to heal the wounds of the last elf war and unite the peoples of Middle-Earth for their own good."

Miriel didn't know how to respond to so bold a lie.

Ar-Pharazon took her hand. "What can I do for you?"

Miriel took a deep breath and plunged it. "It is nearly the summer solstice and the festival of Erulaitale."

"Ah!" Ar-Pharazon nodded as if he had forgotten.

"What is this?" Sauron asked.

"It is a festival," Ar-Pharazon said with a toss of his hand. "There will be contests of song and verse, music and dance and more food than you can eat. All of it needing to be sampled and judged to determined which will make the better sacrifice. It will go on for days. I should make you go in my stead."

"It is also the time to offer the prayer of praise," Miriel cut in.

"Yes, well..." Ar-Pharazon searched among the parchments as if looking for something.

"It is never a good thing to forget the traditions of old," Miriel said. "Ar-Gimilzor forbade ascending Menaltarma and his life was cut short. If you would have the blessings of Eru and the Valar for your realm and your reign, we must ascend the pillar of heaven."

"That is all well and good..." Ar-Pharazon moved the scepter of the king aside and the corner of the parchment it had weighed down snapped up into a roll. "You know I have always respected... I was raised to respect the traditions of old..." He fruitlessly flattened out the parchment as he sought for words.

"What need have you for the blessings of the Valar?" Sauron asked.

Both Miriel and Ar-Pharazon looked up at him in shock.

"When you set out to conquer Middle-Earth was it the Valar who felled the trees, milled the lumber and built your ships? Was it the Valar who mined the ore, smelted the steel and forged your swords and armor? Whose hand lay on the tiller of your ships? The Valars' or yours?"

Sauron's words struck Miriel like a cold hard slap of sea water.

"I repeat, what good have the blessings of the Valar ever done you?"

When the tide of shock receded, a blazing fire of indignation rose up in Miriel. "How dare you? If it weren't for the Valar, we wouldn't exist. They raised the island of Andor up from the ocean for us-"

"-A rest and a reward for helping them in the first War of Wrath," Sauron interrupted. "I know what they told your fathers. What better way to trap a man than to tell him his prison is a paradise?"

Ar-Pharazon scowled. "What are you saying? That Numenor is a prison?"

Sauron turned a patient look on him. "If you had stripped every tree from Numenor, you would not have had enough timber to build the fleet you have. To do that, you needed the resources of Middle-Earth, a world nearly denied you. Why do you think the Valar forbid your fathers from sailing east? They fear the strength you would have if they shared their land and their power with you."

"I suppose we should expect such lies from a servant of Morgoth," Miriel said.

For the first time, irritation flickered across Sauron's face. He straightened indignantly and Miriel realized, Sauron wasn't merely tall, he was big. He was like one of those over-sized statues erected by prideful kings of the past. "I was a servant of Aule, the smith!"

Miriel watched him measure his words carefully, remembering the Maia before them was unimaginably old. He had neither mother nor father, having been created by Eru Iluvatar himself.

"I only sided with Melkor when the other Ainur shamefully sought to bind their elder brother and deny him his rightful place. They grew jealous of his power and creativity and sought to restrain him, though he broke their chain and freed himself."

"I thought he was...unhoused," Ar-Pharazon said hesitantly, "...and cast, body and soul, through the Door of Night into the Void."

Sauron gave him a slight smile. "All according to his wishes."

"He sought to be cast into the Void?" Ar-Pharazon looked more surprised than skeptical.

Sauron's smile broadened. "Aule was only a craftsman. Melkor was a true artist. He had mastered all the arts of creation but one: the secret fire, the flame imperishable which gives life and substance to all creation."

"Which lies...in the Void?" Ar-Pharazon asked.

"You don't expect to find the tools of creation in that creation do you? The world came out of the Void-it is the source of the world-and the secret fire can be found there as well."

"I can't believe the nonsense I'm hearing," Miriel said once she had caught her breath.

"For all we know, Melkore may have already created new worlds and new resources, beyond the reach of the greedy Valar," Sauron continued, ignoring her. "Worlds for you to find and use."

"How can you stand here and listen to that-"

"Enough!" Ar-Pharazon shook his head slightly as if to clear it. "I have neither the time nor the interest in arguing philosophy or ancient histories like drunken old men sitting at the city's gates."

"I apologize." Sauron held up a hand in a placating gesture. "I became overwrought. I still find myself becoming incensed at any form of injustice."

It was a mistake to come here, Miriel thought as she watched Ar-Pharazon stare thoughtfully at the table. If I had left them to discuss new designs for keels and hulls and sails, Sauron would not have put these ideas into his head. Sauron's twisted words contain only enough truth to wound.

With a deep sigh, Ar-Pharazon turned an apologetic smile on her. "You have often asked how you may be a help to me, and I agree that the ancient rites and traditions must be upheld and observed, but prosecuting the peace has proved even more challenging that prosecuting the war."

Miriel braced herself for disappointment.

"But you are also a queen of Numenor. You bore the scepter before me." He paused and gave her an expectant look.

Miriel was surprised by the implication.

"There is no reason you cannot host the feasts, judge the contests and take the sacrifices up Menaltarma. You have just as much right to go there as I do."

Did she have that right? she wondered. Could she speak for the people of Numenor? She glanced at the king's scepter lying on the table. Had she given up that right when she handed over the scepter? Would Ar-Pharazon allow her to borrow it to make the prayer? Would she give it back if he did? Could he take it from her if she refused to return it?

Miriel closed her eyes and silenced a thousand darting questions. She was doing this for his sake at least as much as her own, she reminded herself. "Very well." She opened her eyes. "I would prefer for you to come with me, but I will represent you alone if I must."

"Thank you." Ar-Pharazon kissed her on her forehead.


End file.
